


Something to Lose

by DemGoodNoms (Talc)



Category: Tattered Weave (Video Game)
Genre: Multi, Oral Sex, Secret Quest spoilers, Stripping, Threesome - F/M/M, secret names used
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 02:19:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17479370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talc/pseuds/DemGoodNoms
Summary: The Dollmaker is finding himself missing his best friends as he leads them to a crypt so the two may spend a night together. He cannot help but mourn the loss of their time as a threesome.They notice.





	Something to Lose

The crypt is hidden away in the graveyard, behind catacombs of sepulchers and coffins, piles of dust, grave dirt, and ectoplasm. Only lit by dim candles that flicker constantly in the dark, the couple stands together, watching the Dollmaker search for the key to open the door.

Finally, he scrapes the door open and lets them inside. It’s still dark, but at least there is a table and a velvet lined coffin, previously caked with dust and cobwebs before The Hero had spent a whole rehearsal break cleaning it off.

“There you go.” The Dollmakers says, taking his time putting the keys away in his coat, a bad idea because it leaves his hands free to fidget. The silk of his gloves catches the candlelight as he winds his fingers around each other and squeezes. “I suppose I will leave now…” He adds as a murmur and turns to leave. Still he lingers, his steps slow and small.

Damsel looks at Hero and Hero looks back at her. They both look back at Doll. Hero looks like he’s going to step after him, but Damsel holds up a hand to stop him and instead,

“Wait, Verne…” Damsel calls softly to their friend, whose hands are still fidgeting and wringing together. His nerves are palpable to the couple, enough to make the Hero himself equally uncomfortable and awkward.

The unexpected call of his name makes his ears twitch. A rare occurrence these days, since the loss of his sister, and the following loss of the Count. Damsel and Hero were the only ones left who knew his true name…It’s a melancholy feeling to dwell on. He pauses to reflect on such a heavy emotion, not even noticing he had ignored Damsel’s call until a hand wraps around one of his wrists.

“Verne.” Damsel says, firmer.

“Yes, darling?” Dollmaker responds, turning to look at his friend.

“Are you alright?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, dear! I don’t want to intrude or take any of your time away.” It was few that Damsel ever got a moment to herself to seek out her love like this. He didn’t want to waste that, even though he missed their time together.

“Are you sure, friend?” Hero speaks this time, stepping forward as well. “Though your mourning is ever present, we have seen it too much these past days. More than we have seen you… Yourself… Perhaps… Well… Perhaps you wish to um…To join…To spend more time… That is to say…To…” With every word, the Hero seems to try and dig himself deeper and deeper into an awkward hole.

Damsel rescues him by placing a hand on his shoulder and hushing the man into silence. “What Hiro means to say is; do you want to join us tonight?”

The world becomes a blur. The Dollmaker thinks he agrees, thinks he nods or gestures or something, but he cannot possibly remember as his hands are taken by the friends he has missed to sorely, as he finds their warmth in his cold, corpse hands once again.

Dollmaker is lead to the coffin. Damsel presses on his shoulders, urging him to sit, her following suit behind him as the Hero nervously fumbles forward and starts trying to clumsily unbutton the man’s intricate jacket. Dollmaker is still wracked with nerves, trying not to show how much he still feels like he’s intruding on something private, and personal, and not at all his business. He doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t feel like he does.

And Damsel can tell, so she lifts her mask to reveal her lips, which press soft kisses into the taller thespian’s neck, kissing the teal skin as Hero finally manages to unknot the white silk cravat, and find way to Doll’s shirt, which takes an equally long time to take apart.

Still, Damsel seeks to comfort her friend. She hums quietly, barely audible, and kneads her fingers into Dollmaker’s thighs and hips, chuckling when he twitches underneath her touch, inhaling sharply like he doesn’t know how to react. Another hand joins her two, and Doll inhales as he looks down at the Hero kneeling at his feet, slowly tugging off his mask.

He’d never seen the Hero maskless before. Such an unfettered show of trust and vulnerability has the Dollmaker reaching out a silk gloved hand without thought or purpose, cupping a crimson cheek and running his thumb under his friend’s violet eye. The Hero takes said hand and pulls it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the Dollmaker’s palm.

“Hiro…” He murmurs, breathy, almost whispering, uttering a word he has not spoken in seasons.

As if asking for permission, Hero places both his hands on Doll’s thighs, right over Damsel’s.

He doesn’t know how he could possibly find the words to express his emotions right now, so he nods, not taking his gaze off his friend’s face. He’s overtaken with a warm and pulling feeling that has him clutching at his chest where his heart beats frantically. Damsel tugs off her own mask and places it next to Hero’s on the coffin lid. He’ seen this, once, as a child, but now seeing her as a woman, who smiles softly and presses a kiss to his ear that leaves the Dollmaker shivering; it’s almost too much. He has the sudden urge to press his face lips to hers, to see if they are as soft as the velvet he sews with.

She helps the Hero undo the clasps on the purple pinstriped pants and they’re being pulled down and suddenly there’s a mouth on the inside of Doll’s thigh, pressing soft and reverent kisses to sensitive skin as Damsel continued where Hero left off with the cravat

The Dollmaker is devested of his overcoat and shirt, leaving him in just his mask, gloves and undergarments. Damsel runs her hands over his own, tugging at the silken opera gloves until they’re smoothly pulled off and set aside. She runs her hands over his chest, pausing to rub and pluck as sensitive skin that leaves the thin man jolting and keening in pleasure. It’s hard to focus on her touch, though, even as it runs down to hips, to finger and play with the lacy garment he wears underneath his costume, because the Hero has opened his mouth against Doll’s thigh and sucked.

He gasps, and his hands need to grab something, so they fall back against the coffin’s sides and grip like he can anchor himself to his seat.  Damsel is pressing closer and her still clothed body rubs against his bare skin in the oddest of ways. He squirms, not entirely enjoying the sensation, and she takes the hint, tugging off her dress and underthings until her bare breasts are pressing against his back, pleasantly hot against his ice cold skin. She gestures to the Hero to do the same, and he removes his armor and undershirt before returning to worshipping his friend’s lower half.

Hero is laving his tongue dangerously close to the line where thigh meets pelvis, running along the crease of lace. It’s an unexpected feeling, one the Dollmaker never expected to feel, but it’s oddly interesting. Every touch makes him feel warm and tugs him magnetically towards his two friends, body twitching as it tries to figure out which one to attach to.

Damsel’s drumming her fingers against his hips and kissing his neck again, tugging his hair out of the way so she too can suck on his skin, following up to his ears where she too sucks and kisses, and they’re so sensitive that a sound escapes Doll’s mouth, the likes of which he has never made before.

“Can we?” Damsel murmurs against his skin, and he can physically feel her lips turn up as her fingers continue to toy and drum against his undergarments. The Dollmaker nods frantically, feeling very much like a doll himself in this state; being dressed and undressed by another, tugged and pulled where he’s wanted and pampered with love and devotion. This must be how his darlings feel when he takes care of them; absolutely drowning in warmth, feeling unequivocally loved.  

When the Hero has taken the last piece of clothing from Doll’s body, he is left with just a mask. It’s his own choice to take it off, to reveal himself to his two dearest friends. Even as he stood, bare without a costume for the room to see, the removal of his mask is what leaves him feeling naked and vulnerable.

Damsel maneuvers herself to see both him and the Hero, her eyes shining. There’s nothing there to shame him, to make him feel anything but safe, here in this crypt. “We’re going to touch you now, Verne. Is that alright? We want you to feel _so good_.” Her voice is a low thrum, like the distant roaring of a crowd. It’s pleasant to the ear, and right up against his skin such a voice is hot and tantalizing.

“I…I do not know…I know not of…Of…” The Dollmaker pants out, struggling to find the words to explain. Even now he feels like he’s invading on their privacy, on the rituals that take place in this room.

“I know. I know, sweetie.” Damsel hushes. “We know, and we’ll take care of you. Do you want us to take care of you?”

“Y-yes…Yes please.” His face feels warmer than it’s ever been. He wonders if his face is still teal, or if it’s turned as crimson as Hero’s with such a heat underneath it.

“We will take care of you, dear friend.” The Hero assures from his place on the floor. “I promise with all my might.”

The Dollmaker has never paid attention to the organ between his legs before, but now it cannot be ignored as it grows hotter and harder with every stroke of the Hero’s hand.

“That’s it, just like that.” Damsel coos, “Nice and slow for him, just like I do for you.”

It takes a moment for Doll to understand that these words are for Hero, telling him what to do. Hard to concentrate as his breath picks up and once again he struggles to find how his body should be oriented. There’s so much to do and think about, and not enough time to ponder on it.

“Right here, you’re safe. Right here, Verne.” Damsel is saying to him, and her hands are holding his, rubbing circles in his skin in a way that is oh so comforting. “We’re keeping you safe.” He gets the will to look away from Hero long enough to see her lips again, and then his tongue is flitting out to wet his own, mouth suddenly feeling too dry. Parched.

Her lips really are soft, though perhaps not like velvet. Like silk, perhaps, smooth and malleable. The kiss is slow and languid, awkward in its execution as Doll has no idea what he’s doing, but he mostly just lets her take the lead. He follows her movements, lets her lips guide his. Slowly she introduces her tongue to his, and he’s moaning like a lost soul into her mouth, hands clutching onto hers like a lifeline.

“Little more, Hiro.” Damsel murmurs, breaking the kiss only a hairs width to give directions. Hero’s grip tightens, and doll is moaning and panting with every new sensation.

The feeling is no unwelcome, just odd. Something is building up in him, an incessant pleasure that creeps forward with every touch. It rushes towards him, and he cannot control his hips as he bucks into Hero’s touch.

“Slow down.” Damsel commands suddenly, and Doll cannot help but whine as the feeling is slowed to a halt. Damsel squeezes his hands before letting go and sliding away from him, and he almost cries at the loss of feeling, suddenly in a place of oversensitivity and panic.

Then Hero’s calloused hand is replaced by a smaller, softer one and the heat is back as Hero slides into the spot Damsel vacated.

“My friend, may I kiss you?” The Hero asks, raising a hand to cup Doll’s chin.

“Darling…” Is all Doll manages to get out before he himself leans forward and kisses Hero.

Unlike Damsel’s kiss, this one is not soft and slow but passionate and pushing. Hero’s hands grip at Doll’s hips, tugging him into his lap side-saddle, an action that sends Damsel’s hand out of reach and she giggles with mirth and amusement at her Hero’s enthusiasm.

Doll is long, and hangs off Hero like an awkward doll, but neither seem to mind. She watches them, fond and overwhelmingly happy to see them together, before noticing how Doll’s hips are beginning to rock, searching for the feeling she’d taken away. So, she presses her hands on his thighs, leans forward, and wraps her lips around him.

It’s a good thing his mouth is being held by Hero’s, as the Dollmaker cries out with the sudden feeling, and probably would have alerted the whole stage with the sounds he makes as she swallows him down.

In the end he twitches under her lips and tongue, grasps and clutches at Hero, at her and her hair and her hands, finally taking her own hand and squeezing tight, other hand reaching for Hero in a similar way. When he reaches his peak, his whole body jolts.

Later, when all three are lying bare in the coffin, Doll finds tears in his eyes. They drip down onto the velvet lining, trailing along his skin as the two lovers lie on either side of him, holding him close; warm and safe. He hasn’t felt such mourning in a long, long time. After today, he once again has something to lose. Like his sister, like the Count. And though he mourns them constantly, this overwhelming sense is not the same.

He feels like he’s mourning for a loss not yet gained. The idea that one day these two could be gone, and he’d return to being alone with his dolls.

He never wants to lose this.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A gift to a good.


End file.
